Dario Argento’s cult horror film Suspiria (1977) is impressive only, perhaps, for its blunt use of colors; there is no pretense to realism in their use, which is fine, because they’re stunning if only because they go against the grain of our expectations. The camerawork is eccentric, but only in an I’m-doing-an-homage-to-Hitchcock sort of way; the horror scenes—viewed today—are staged adequately, but not masterfully, and the little camera tricks are just that. A bigger problem is the noise-rock music, by the Goblins. It’s novel, I guess, but it isn’t suspenseful—rather, it’s loud and imposing, in competition with the plot rather than enhancing it. The film’s reputation is in its touches, and maybe they were more unique at the time; but the only really clever moments were when one victim fell onto a bed of barbed wire, and, particularly, when another girl’s head is pushed through a window. Nothing quite equals that latter incident for sheer lurid flamboyance; it’s a classic of a sort, but aside from a knife-wielding revenant, it’s really the only one. And this doesn’t even cover the plot, which is about a coven of witches in charge of a school for ballerinas. I didn’t expect good acting, but Jessica Harper looks like a deer in the headlights throughout, and she has no luster as a character. Her instructor (Alida Valli—not the Alida Valli, from The Third Man, right? Really?) compliments her for being strong-headed when she requests to stay with a friend rather than live in a dorm; not only is Suzy not particularly strong-headed in this scene, but it never pays off. She doesn’t become that teacher’s pet, which might have given her an in with the witches. Argento was clearly taking off from Rosemary’s Baby, but, in this stylized ballet school—isolated not only geographically (which seems implausible) but from the modern world—there’s no sense of the horror in the mundane, which made Polanski’s movie so effective. There is no sense of betrayal because Valli and the headmistress (Joan Bennett) seem fishy from square one. Rosemary’s neighbors were, too, but at least they were likable for being so outsize yet familiar. Bennett, in particular, is bland and monotone to the point of being comic; but we never for a moment trust her, and I doubt we’re meant to laugh at her. There are no turnarounds. A boy who seems to have some inkling about the coven, and has a crush on Harper’s Suzy early on, lies about her roommate’s disappearance and then falls offscreen; he neither saves nor betrays her. Similarly, the phantom of the opera employed as the ballerinas’ butler is called ugly and stupid by the punctilious, mean-spirited Valli when he’s first introduced. She isn’t wrong. He never breaks free and seeks revenge against his masters. When Suzy goes to eliminate them, she’s on her own. Suzy’s first roommate, who seemed bitchy at first and then grew on her, also disappears without a trace; her development was a dead end. Even the ballet motif is utterly disregarded; they make no connection between that craft and witchcraft.
One fears that the makers of Suspiria (the title is a good one, but just as irrelevant) only wanted an excuse to huddle a bunch of young girls together; they may as well have been forthright and set the film in an academy for pole dancers. Watching the movie is a fun way to pass the wee hours of the night on the wee channels of the cable spectrum; it’s quick and innocuous. I’m sure that the film seemed more brutal when it came out, but that’s not much of a compliment. Seeing it today, it looks like routine old schlock—save for its pretty colors.
